


i am only what memories were buried in me

by GStK



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: it was an accident mostly to have lived this longi regret the entry, but what choice did i have.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	i am only what memories were buried in me

**Author's Note:**

> Route non-specific; spoilers for the couples' endings.

sylvain grasps at his sleeve.

"enough," felix barks, throwing him off. he's touchy on his best days and he's feral on his worst and every day since the climax of the war --

it hasn't been good.

"what? you don't want to find some lovely ladies with me?" sylvain asks, throwing his hands behind his shoulders. it's a call back to the man he used to be. he's changing. he's trying to pretend everything is normal because he has his worst days, too. he is a father without a head.

felix favours the ring on his left hand.

"it's about that time, isn't it?" sylvain muses.

felix grunts. when he goes, where he goes, sylvain inevitably follows.

* * *

there's an anniversary. felix doesn't honour it. he comes when the need is overwhelming. sylvain's always there but sylvain only ever comes when he's present. he's a coward. a fool. a stolid, stoic companion.

the graveyard here is small. there's a bigger one, a real one. it doesn't matter. the useless piece of land his father left to him is used for no better purpose. it's the only reason he hasn't renounced his title of lord. the victims and perpetrators both are dead.

sylvain blows out a wet breath of air on their approach. perhaps it's hard. perhaps, like all things, he subjects himself to the pain to pay for a sin that was never his.

older brothers will do that to you.

annette has her marker here. ingrid shares an honourary space next to glenn -- not together, no. apart and without. the brush that managed to sneak up before the cold has all frosted over and died. he rips out browned roots that crack apart between his fingers. the low light is smothered by a chilly fog and renders the morning moot.

"cold," sylvain comments intelligently, knowing his words to be a nuisance. felix can hardly muster the breath to scoff. it puffs out in front of him, instead, like a wordless prayer trying to summon back the departed. a hand meets his back, again. he doesn't bat it away this time either.

a knee to the ground. a flower placed once with the tips of its petals already frayed by the chill of the journey. sylvain joins him in diligent duty and when he stoops felix doesn't really know what it is that's taken a hold of his own tongue.

"no rose this time."

"nah. figured she would get tired of them, after a while."

"you know she never liked them in the first place," felix accuses.

sylvain nods. "i know. yeah." what would have stopped him, either way? who knows. who knows quite what matters any more.

the breeze catches his empty sleeve, undoes the knot at his shoulder and sends the fabric waving desperately. a white flag for dried tears.

sylvain pats his vacant shoulder. felix feels sparks running down the ghosts of his past and an arm that was never found.

"she would've wanted you to be happy."

"hmph. who?"

"both of them. of all the times to play dense..."

"enough with your prattle." _fight me and send the phantoms away_ , beg his bones. but he doesn't have a sword. "we're done here."

"i dunno..."

"if you want to spend the rest of your day crying, leave me out of it," felix snarls.

sylvain still hasn't removed his hand. with an improper grunt, felix finds himself dragged into the man's side.

"relax," orders sylvain, with no room for argument.

when his wife is dead? when he had to hold her as she bled out with his one arm because giving up the other wasn't good enough? when he can't get the screams of sylvain's own voice out of his head, desperate fear realised when ingrid was knocked from her pegasus. he remembers the arrows that pierced through her armour.

"relax," sylvain says more firmly, an unreadable expression furrowing his brow. his arm tightens around felix.

easier said than done. the war is gone, they are robbed. they are aging men beholding the graves of their fallen.

\-- there's nothing felix can swear on, but still. the seconds march on and time ticks forward. he mistakes beams of light for love.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from works by Julian Randall.


End file.
